Golden Shots
by CC-Saito
Summary: A place for drabbles, one-shots and plot bunnies ranging across all genres and characters—for idea dumping and practice. #4: Release. Getting older is supposed to strengthen one's character, but Momon finds out that is not entirely so.
1. To Kill or Not to Kill

_Zeon walks the fine line between protecting his brother and abiding his ideals. Rated: K+_

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To Kill or Not to Kill

* * *

To kill or not to kill?

It's incredible how many thoughts can go through the mind in a few seconds.

After navigating a stream of thoughts that winded through infinite outcomes in the space of a second or two, Zeon's world had narrowed to this one question.

To kill or not to kill?

The violent part of him found the question cumbersome: if he weren't thinking about it, everything would be over already and everyone would go on with their lives as usual.

But in a more peaceful realm of his mind, he found the question unnecessary. He could just walk away. Everything _was_ over already, and everyone can go on with their lives as usual.

The assassin was three times bigger than he was. He laid in a heap on the floor. He was still conscious, though he wouldn't raise his head. He was singed and trembling in fear, as should anyone who was punished by the sting of his lighting. Perhaps if he could see his face now he could better judge his worth to inform his decision. But if he ended up killing him anyway, why would he need to see his face?

He knew Zatch would object. His philosophy of coexistence was that all the different types of demons, weak ones and strong ones, crafty ones and innocent ones, could live together in peace. In his little brother's world of kindness, there was a place even for the trash he had at his feet. It was his job to protect his brother, and by extension his ideals. It was from the interface between those two duties that the question emerged.

To kill or not to kill?

To let him live meant to give him another chance to attempt at his brother's life. Zatch was a kind king, but not a kind fool. He knew evil existed and that it had to be stopped. That's what he would be doing by killing the assassin: stopping an agent of evil. He should—and did not—have any compunction about it. What objection could Zatch possibly raise against that? What reason could he come up with not to kill him?

He had tasted the sting of his lightning. That guaranteed that this was the last time he would try something like this. He would live with the scar for all eternity; even his posthumous soul would be branded. The scum at his feet was an assassin. His kind did not have families, or severed all ties with them. He wouldn't have anyone who could heal the wound of his lighting like Cherish did

Although that also meant that nobody would miss him if he died. Zeon could only imagine him sitting in his lonesome hideout, doing nothing with his existence whilst he waited for his next request. He was no one. A floater with no face or name. He never existed in the first place. No one, not even Zatch, would care if he died.

Perhaps that was why the decision was so hard—because either choice was so inconsequential. But shouldn't that make the choice easier? Zeon clenched his teeth.

He loathed the feeling of indecision.

And he loathed those that were indecisive.

Zatch wasn't indecisive. Indeed, his decisions were unflinching. He could personally attest to the strength of his resolve after their battle in Faudo. His heart would have no trouble choosing now: he would forgive. Every demon, humble ones and arrogant ones, diligent ones and slothful ones, had a right to live in the world as Zatch viewed it. There was no true rationale to it. His brother simply followed his nature. That's all Zeon had to do. Follow his nature.

To kill…

or…

not to kill?

Zeon lifted his arm and incanted a spell. Light that could blind all eyes and sound that could deafen all ears filled the world. The assassin trembled no more. Zeon turned on his heel and left for the palace to meet with his brother.

Every demon had place in his brother's world. Harsh ones and soft ones, merciful ones and merciless ones. Zeon counted among those demons. Zatch would understand.

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Written on October 31, 2016

Thanks for reading.


	2. Call Your Name

_Angst is really not my thing. This was drifting around in my head, though, so here it is. If you're inclined, leave a review. I need to learn to write these better._

 _The mind of a young woman trapped in a dark tunnel. Rated: K+_

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Call Your Name

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I wonder how it is I can remain myself in this darkness.

I am flooded by loneliness and feel I am about to disappear. There is nothing to hope for and the happiness I wished for is lost. I'll be gone and nobody will remember me.

I call your name.

There is an image of me in your heart that will not fade. My hopes, dreams. Poverty and prejudice have always blotted out their light. I don't forget them, I look ahead to them. Not alone, because you have been with me, giving me strength.

My hopes, my dreams. Their light is gone. I don't know where to go. You're not with me.

My hopes, my dreams. Do they still exist? What are they?

I call your name.

Hurt the ones who've wronged me. Enjoy others' suffering. They deserve it.

No. These feelings aren't mine. They cut me from inside.

Revenge, it's delicious.

It's poison.

 _It is what you've always wanted. I only made you realize how sweet it is._

That's not what I want. I want to find he exit.

Hate makes me strong to take what I want.

It kills me.

I call your name.

I've caused so much pain to so many, to you. If cry for an eternity and my tears fall as rain that blooms the most beautiful flowers, that would conquer any lover, vanquish all grief, mend any broken friendship, and lift the saddest soul into bliss, the evil I have done will not be atoned for.

I call your name.

Save me! Even if I must carry with these misdeeds that cannot be righted with a thousand deaths in my heart all my life, I just want to stop. I want to believe it was a dark ego, a creation of that heart-manipulating fiend, that has done it all, but it was me. Am I allowed to believe I can be happy anymore? My hopes, dreams, shattered. The pain of these sins will never allow me to smile, for my sake, or yours. The darkness, I belong in it.

I hear a name.

My name.

By the only voice that has ever called me. The voice that has encouraged me when I've wanted to give up. The voice that has eased my pain when I've hurt. I hear you and I believe I can be saved. Free me from the heart-manipulating fiend. Don't lose sight of me. Don't get lost.

I call your name.

When life became overwhelming and I felt I would be crushed by it all, when I was showered by hostilities and couldn't endure it alone, when I felt the world was against me and fighting back against it too painful to be worth my dreams, I called your name, and you cheered me on, fought the prejudice, and challenged the world. You always came to help me when I called. If that hasn't changed, then maybe this darkness I'm in is only another adversity I can overcome with you by my side. The harrowing evils will be left behind in the dark tunnel along with all the suffering as we walk into the light hand-in-hand, together.

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Written on January 28, 2017

 _Inspired by the song Call Your Name, by Luck Life. Check it out._

Thanks for reading.


	3. Void

_Nothing is complete without him. Rated: T_

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Void

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Every day now when I walk to school in the morning, I notice the disquiet is no less evident than the previous day. It has become the norm, and the day is easier to get through than the one before.

The streets crawl with knights of all types and sizes. Some stand in the same place every day, casting their obscured gaze about like they're lighthouses. Some charge through the road like mad horses—some of them _are_ horses, and considering the way they run, I wouldn't call them anything other than mad. Like everyone else, I just make sure to stay out of their way. Others cruise overhead on flyers, but they are no less difficult to ignore. No one can ignore what's happening. Demons go about their lives as normal, but it's obvious in their nervous glances, lowered heads and hushed talk: something's wrong.

In school, my classmates aren't so discreet. Koruru always has tears tickling the corners of her eyes, and about twice a day they burst forth. Tio is always there to lend her shoulder, patting her back and uttering reassurances that I don't think she herself believes. "There, there, Koruru. Don't worry. He'll be back soon." Always so reliable. But I know how she is. Inside, she's crumbling.

Schneider just comes and sits in his usual place, not looking at anyone, eyes hard. That's how he'll stay until the end of class, when he'll suddenly jump out of his seat with fire in his eyes, stand on his desk, pound on his chest and deliver another speech full of "Meru meru me" that somehow inspires a bunch to follow him when he charges out of the classroom and search as far as they can reach before their spirits wane and they all go home. Every day the crowd that follows him gets smaller and smaller. The bags under his eyes tell the whole tale; he stays out late into the night, if not the whole night. I wonder in passing when that vicious loop will be the end of him.

Searching. It's not difficult to think of the most indicated demon for that. Everyone expected him to find him right away—in hours, if not minutes—, but it's been over three weeks. The expectation was high, and failure came with an accordingly shattering fall. Every day now, Momon can be seen sitting in his seat, head buried in his arms, ears draped over his desk dejectedly. When I pass by him, I can hear him muttering. "Useless… failure…such a loser."

The teacher's voice during lecture is a drone. He can never stop glancing at his empty seat. Little things like that make the dead silence of my classmates deafening.

At recess we all gather in the yard. Usually it's to eat lunch together and play, but now it's as if food has no meaning and playing were a distant memory. Kyanchome doesn't stuff his face with candy anymore. He just listens as everyone else talks, looking for a way to be useful amid the helplessness. Everyone's lunch just sits in front of them getting cold as they ask the question—the same question they asked the day before and will ask again tomorrow.

What happened to Zatch?

When he didn't show up to school one day, everyone thought he had been taken up by some kingly affair. Then he didn't show up the day after, or the day after that. The days have turned into weeks, and there is still no sign of him. Everyone has broken from their lives to search for him. For some, searching for him has broken their lives. They say Zeon has not returned to the palace since Zatch vanished, roaming the corners of the Demon World aimlessly in search of his brother. Paradoxically, everyone hopes to see him come back, because they know he will return only when he finds him. Some though, are starting to think we'll never see either twin again.

And me? All I know is I have to get through the day. I keep to myself. When necessary, I make the appropriate facial expressions, say the right things. Either Byonko or Tio always ask me, "Are you holding up well, Patty?" I tell them I'm okay, with the same reply each time. "My Zatch is strong. I know nothing bad will happen to him." They just nod and agree; but then they always look down at their feet and wordlessly walk away. Once I make it through school, I can go home. Then, everything is fine.

On my way home, the whispering and rumors are hard to miss.

"I heard it was Brago. Everyone thought he would win the battle, and his pride couldn't handle losing to one of the biggest dropouts."

"It must have been Prince Zeon. My master is close to the royal family, and I overheard him say the prince always resented his brother and couldn't accept he stole the throne from him."

"He was supposedly a 'kind king'. When you're that soft, something like this is just bound to happen."

"I was told another battle will start soon. I wonder who'll take over for him. I don't want to be there when the fight breaks out."

When the news the king disappeared were announced to the whole kingdom, everyone expected instant chaos, but so far things have stayed in order. The knights have remained loyal to my Zatch and are still looking for him. The powerful veterans from the battle—Brago, Rein, Ashuron, and also Zatch's father, who still lives—have maintained a presence and deterred usurpers so far. But how long can that last? How long can a kingdom keep running without its leader?

In civics class we learned that when the leader of a nation is gone for any reason and there is no central government there is said to be a vacuum or a void.

Void. That word captures everyone's mood so well. There is a void in and around everyone. He was the nexus that united us all, and without him everyone drifts apart without compass in the emptiness, lost.

But that void doesn't compare to the void in my life without him. That's why…

I saunter into my room and drop my bag by the door without stopping, closing the door behind me with a shove, and head straight for my altar.

It is a beautiful manifestation of my bottomless love for my one and only Zatch. To one side are my Zatch dolls, of every size, his handsome, manly features captured in every single stitch by my loving hands.

Lined up across the front are folded cards, impressed on them the ultimate impossibility: poetic words expressing my inexpressible infatuation.

To the other side, presenting every impeccable angle of his body in various positions, are sculptures of his handsome figure in full color, painted with delicate brush strokes representing the gentility with which I long to embrace him.

At the center, a censer emitting wisps that snake into my nostrils and fill my lungs with his musk.

Above it on the wall, a picture. He sits there smiling in his royal attire. Superimposed beside his figure is a winking cut-out from an oil painting of pretty me. I contemplate it, immersing myself on the day that image foretells, when his voice, soothing like bells, speaks the words that will seal our love forever. _Will you be my queen?_

But that day hasn't come. You are still so stubborn.

I put my fingertips to the bottom of the frame and slide the picture up, revealing an opening on the wall. I stride through and step through a long tunnel that opens into a chamber. My heart skips a beat, and races.

He is there, his arms held above his head by magic binding cloths hanging from the ceiling. I stop and take a moment to admire his bare frame, interrupted only by his undergarments, his skin glistening in the dim pink light.

He hears me come in and raises his head wearily, bleary orange eyes casting an unfocused look on me. "Unu…Patty…let me go."

I approach him and put a finger to his chapped lips, shushing. "I can't do that, my love," I whisper into his face. "I wouldn't be able to live with the void."

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Completed December 4th, 2017 _  
A bit much, eh? Don't lie; you think she's a total psycho, too.  
Disclaimer: I'm not a ZatchxPatty fan. I just had to kill this plot bunny._  
Thanks for reading.


	4. Release

_Momon's strength is tested. Rated: T_

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Release

* * *

"Uh. First of, that's just weird, even for you. Second, even if I didn't think it was weird, that's not something I do anymore." I give Patty my most disapproving look where she stands. It's the end of final period, and everyone has gone home, making us the only ones left in the classroom. I stayed behind because she said she wanted to ask me something. I have to say, I'm only half surprised, and just a little disturbed. One would think she had matured more now that we're in high school.

"But Momon, this would be such a piece of cake for you. And it's a harmless thing; it's not like I'm asking you to do anything bad."

"I said no."

"Pretty please?"

I cross my arms. "No."

"Oh, _pleeease_ , Momon." Ever wily, Patty touches her hand to her cheek and smooths her face against it, smiling as if she were caressing a cloud. She hugs her belly with her other arm and daintily turns to the side, bending a knee to touch the floor with the point of her foot. "You wouldn't say no to a pretty girl like me," she says with a sugary voice, fluttering her eyelashes at me. It's a statement, but she says it with an upward inflection that makes it sound like a question.

"I said no already. Is that all you wanted? I have to brief Zatch on the status of the current housing project in less than a half hour _and_ I have to submit a proposal for a new magic construct to the Artifacts Ministry after. I'm too busy for… things like this."

She closes her eyes and sighs, crossing her arms under her bust, apparently finally resigned to my refusal. "I thought you'd be this way," she says, raising a hand to her chest. "So I brought something to make you…"

My eyes narrow and my ears bend in her direction, twitching. Just when I think she's going to be embarrassed or maybe just disappointed, she begins to act scheming. I keep my guard up in anticipation for anything she might have up her…

"…reconsider."

Bra!

I draw a sharp breath and step back after she draws a pair of panties from inside her bra. It's immediately obvious to me they're not hers. "Wh-where did you get those?' I blurt out, mostly because I can't think of anything else to say.

"Oh, these?" She holds them in front of her chest by the corners. I realize I'm staring and turn my eyes away. "I just happened to pick them up at the sleepover last night. You can guess," she pauses and I feel rather than see her winking, "who they're from."

Even without deducing it from knowing who hosted that sleep over, that style is unmistakable. The pink lace edging around the waistband and leg openings, overall white, and tell-tale flower motives. I haven't forgotten it all these years. There's no question about it. Those are Tio's panties!

"Right you can," she says, and I realize I've been silent all the while. "So let's try this again. You snatch a pair of Zatch's underpants for me," I see out of the corner of my eye that she waves the panties about, "and these will be all yours." She punctuates the sentence with a trademark wink.

My jaw shakes, as does the rest of my body, as I try to find words. A weak thought declares there are no words to say but no, but it dies uselessly. It's all useless. Every thought in my mind is an attempt not to think of those panties, to block the image of them. It's like my mind's been hijacked. Every faculty of my brain sputters and bangs like a failing invention. My heart's drumming doesn't help the mental noise. Focus. Focus, Momon! I turn my back to Patty, my hands balled into sweaty, tight fists. "I don't do that anymore," I say. I mean to state it loudly, firmly, but it comes out as little more than a tremulous whisper.

She speaks, her voice getting closer and closer. "Momon, sweetheart, don't lie to yourself. I see the way you look at her when you think no one's looking. The way your eyes go up and down her body. She's grown up into a really beautiful girl, hasn't she? We've all grown up. It's only natural that we start to look at each other…differently." She's whispering right next to my face now, standing behind me. Her minty breath is warm against my cheek. "All you have to do is go to your briefing like normal. Then, when it's over, you use your abilities to avoid the servants and guards and sneak into his room," she simulates 'walking' with her fingers as she says this, 'sneaking' with a down-under motion with her flat hand and a snatch as she says, "and take a pair of his underpants. Just one. Your reward will be totally worth the risks." With dexterity I never imagined she had, she shoves her panties into my closed fist, and I feel myself melt.

As if she knew my jelly legs threatened to fail me, Patty puts a hand around my torso and the other on my shoulder, and presses her breasts against my back a little more than she has to. She keeps whispering next to my cheek. "I think you and I understand each other better than anyone, Momon. We both know what desire is like. It feels _sooo_ good, but at the same time it's such torture. Don't you think you and I deserve some release? Don't you think we have a right not to be judged for that?"

I can't move. I can't think. I stare at the door, a manifestation of some part of me that must be screaming for me to get out of here. A part of me that knows I'll lose to temptation if I stay. But that's about as strong as that part of me is right now. I mutter unremittingly, looking for the spell that will help me overcome the temptation put forth by Patty. "I don't do that anymore. I'm Zatch's friend. I'm his advisor. I help make the world a better place. I don't snatch panties anymore. Sister Elle would be so disappointed." Yes! That's it! Sister Elle. She would be so disappointed in me if I gave in. I imagine her quiet smile, how proud she'd be one day if I got to tell her all the good things I accomplished and how I never caved in to bad influences. I repeat 'Sister Elle would be so disappointed' over and over, focusing on that and only that to muster the strength I need to break free of Patty's wiles.

So strongly I focus, that I neglect control over my body and fail to notice Patty lifting my slack arm and pass the panties over my face.

I catch a whiff of their personal, clean scent. A flower bed on a dewy spring morning with Tio lying unclad right across it. Milky…sweet. Their light cloth absorbs my pouring sweat and their softness soothes my face. My breath catches. By body tenses then becomes jelly again. I come to senses in time to catch my legs before they give out under me. Whatever thought I was having before has vanished, and I feel perniciously good about it.

"You don't have to choose between your duties and your desires."

She backs away. I remain still, not really thinking anything. I'm only acutely aware of three things: my heart's rapid pounding, my iron grip on the panties, and a small wet spot in my briefs. I don't know how much time passes, but at some point I tuck the panties under my shirt like I used to before (others would notice the bulge if I stuff them in my pocket) and walk away.

"Momon," she calls when I get to the door. I stop.

"Better if they're used."

I hear her blow a kiss at me. Her way of saying thanks, I guess. I don't answer. I slide the door open, shut it behind me, and make my way to the palace, to brief my king, and then to steal his underwear.

* * *

Completed July 25th, 2018

 _I didn't want to publish two consecutive stories of Patty being an obsessive creep (for some reason I like to write her like that), but this has been complete since July and I am struggling to complete other shorts. I don't even know how to categorize it._

Thanks for reading.


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